The Breadwinner: Alternate Ending Essay
by peeta's-buns-don't-lie
Summary: This was an essay for a book called the Breadwinner. The assignment was to create an alternate ending, since it never explains what happened to Parvana's family or explained if Shauzia and Parvana ever met up again. Here is my Chapter 16.


It was a cold night in Paris, France. Streetlamps flooded the dark, cloudy sky with silky white light that hid the stars with a cloak of shine. The wind was rough and cold against my skin, biting at my nose. It wasn't very warm up on the Eiffel Tower, but I was determined to meet her again. Except she was late. Very late.

Shauzia and I had promised to meet here twenty years after we parted. Here I was, almost thirty-two years old, on top of the Eiffel Tower hovering over Paris, peering down at the tourists below like tiny, scuttling ants.

"She'll come, Parvana," my husband, Laqeet had said, laying a hand on my shoulder. "She was supposed to come to Paris, anyway. I'm sure she isn't far."

I could only sigh, and take a seat on a nearby bench that had two empty seats. I couldn't help but notice a little girl on the other end, shivering, and all alone.

After a few minutes of watching her teeth chatter and her nose get a brighter red, I turned my head to her and frowned. "Are you here all alone?"

The little girl nodded, but said nothing in return.

"What's your name? Are you lost?" I continued, wondering who her parents were.

The little girl could've been a statue, but after a while of considering, she opened her mouth to speak. "My name is Aaminah. My mommy works here at the tower as a tour guide."

"Does she know you're up here? It's cold."

Aaminah nodded. "She doesn't mind. What's your name?"

I looked at Laqeet for guidance, but he just waved me on. "My name's Parvana. This is my husband, Laqeet."

Aaminah gave us a fast wave before tucking her hand back in her coat sleeve for warmth. "Parvana is a nice name."

I noticed her name was a Muslim name. "Where are you from?"

"I'm from here," she said. "But my mommy is from somewhere else."

I paused, not wanting to pry. "Where is she from?"

"She's from somewhere across the big water," Aaminah replied.

_Could it be Shauzia? _I thought. But there was only one way to find out.

"Is her name Shauzia?" I asked hopefully, but the hope was lost when Aaminah shook her head.

"No. Are you looking for someone?"

I knew I shouldn't bring the little girl into this, but I needed someone to talk to. "Yes. I'm looking for a friend. Twenty years ago, we promised to meet each other here. But Laqeet and I can't find her anywhere. We're getting worried, and I need to get back to my family in Kabul."

She made a tiny gasp. "You live in Kabul? Afghanistan? What was it like there, when the Taliban ruled?"

I was surprised that a young girl knew this much about Afghanistan. "It wasn't good, if anything. Half of my family is dead because of it."

"Can you tell me?" Her eager face won over my judgment.

I looked over at Laqeet again, and he shrugged. "We have time."

I told her everything up to the part where we left to Mazar to find the rest of the family, skipping everything about Mrs. Weera and Mother's magazine. I even told her about Shauzia and her plans to come to Paris and escape Kabul. Aaminah's expression never altered during the whole story, until at the end. She grew disappointed.

"Why won't you tell me the rest of it? Did your sister get married? Did your family survive? Who was the Window Woman?" Her voice was so loud I had to tell her to be quiet, since tourists were starting to stare.

"Well," I started, trying to answer in the best way possible. "My family half-survived. My Father was killed by a Talib when we were on our way there. I escaped, barely, and found my mother, with my baby brother in her arms in the street, dead. I found my older sister, Nooria, hiding in a bombed building as well as her fiancé and my little sister, Maryam, who was injured. We got back to Kabul in eight days, and Maryam soon recovered. But I never heard what happened to Mrs. Weera, or who the Window Woman was or why she was giving gifts to me, or why my Father was released from jail. I still ask these questions every day in my head. I never even knew if Shauzia got here."

Aaminah was enchanted by the story, her eyes wide with surprise. "That story was amazing. I never knew exactly what happened in Kabul, but I knew all along about Mazar."

"Why?" I asked. Now it was my turn to be curious.

"Because," Aaminah said, "my mommy, Homa, is from there, and she tells me stories of it. Of how she escaped from the Talib, found home in a stranger's house and grouped together with a nice lady and a girl younger then her, and they traveled all around the world until they settled here."

Before I could say anything, a woman bursted through the doors in front of us and ran forward to Aaminah, scooping her up swiftly and turning to us. "I'm sorry if she gave you any trouble. She is a handful, and hard to keep up with."

"But, mommy!" Aaminah yelled, pointing at me. "That's Parvana, and her husband Laqeet. She told me all about Kabul, and how she's waiting for her friend here."

Homa seemed to soon recognize me, and hugged me with Aaminah still in her arms. "You said you were looking for Shauzia? She's at her home, caring for her sick son. Mrs. Weera recently passed away, and we've had to split our working hours in half."

"I was hoping to find Mrs. Weera, too," I said. "I didn't even say goodbye."

"You already did, years ago," Homa said, smiling. "Now let's get you and Laqeet inside for some tea. We have a lot of catching up to do."


End file.
